“There are almost as many points of interest in the Connecticut River Valley as there are on the Concord and Lexington road,” Mr. Emerson told the girls.  “We’re going first to Holyoke, which is one of the largest paper manufacturing towns in the world.  I have a little business to do there and while I am seeing my man you people can take a little walk.  Be sure you notice the big dam.  It’s a thousand feet long.  The Holyoke water power is very unusual.”

Perhaps because they were not experts on water power they were not greatly impressed by the floods of the Connecticut River diverted into deep canals and swimming along so smoothly as to impart but little idea of their strength.  Only the whir of the great mills gave evidence that iron and steel were being moved by it.

“How Roger would enjoy this!” cried Ethel Brown, and “Wouldn’t Helen be just crazy over all the history of this region?” added Ethel Blue, while Dorothy, who had travelled much but never without her mother, silently wished that she were there to enjoy it all.

“There’s another girl’s college of note,” and Mrs. Emerson pointed out Mt.  Holyoke at South Hadley, northeast of Mt Tom.

“And we’re going to see Smith College to-day!  I feel as if I wanted to go to all of them!” cried Ethel Blue.

“You might take a year at each and find out which was best suited to your temperament,” laughed Mrs. Emerson.

From the foot of the mountain they went northward again to Northampton.

“Here’s where I ought to go if names count for anything,” decided Dorothy.

“If all the girls named Smith who go to college anywhere should go here because of the name there wouldn’t be room for any other students,” said Mr. Emerson jokingly.

“They say,” returned Dorothy on the defensive, “that in the beginning all the people in the world were named Smith and it was only those who misbehaved who had their names changed.”

“You can at least pride yourself on their being an industrious lot.  Think of all their crafts—­they were armorers and goldsmiths, and silversmiths and blacksmiths.”

CHAPTER XII

THE BERKSHIRES AND BENNINGTON

Greenfield, where the party spent the night, they found to be a pleasant old town with the wide, tree-bordered streets to which they were growing accustomed in this trolleying pilgrimage.  A quiet hotel sheltered them and they slept soundly, their dreams filled with memories of colleges and rose gardens and Indians in romantic confusion.  The next day they started westward.

Pittsfield they found to be a large town whose old houses surrounded by ancient trees gave a feeling of solidity and comfort.

“Longfellow wrote ‘The Old Clock on the Stairs’ here,” said Mr. Emerson pointing out the Appleton house.  “The first stanza describes more than one of the old mansions,” and he recited:—­